


The Fearful Man

by Cannabis



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cannabis/pseuds/Cannabis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder, dug deep like a new syringe, mixes a new venom of spite throughout the vein of the East Coast. Will Graham touches the ground where the killer lays his work and pursues the chastened man. Hannibal Lecter, in all sense of curious obsession, follows Will every step of the way; goading him ever closer to his haunts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Première Voix

Rain funneled from the clouds and roped free down his hair and neck. Heavy, wet pellets thundered obstinately against his skull. The noise scarcely lessened as the hollow door clumped behind his weight into the driver’s seat. Though damp with humidity, mud like slag on his boots, and glasses steamed over, he gave no absence of trepidation to this return, rising a palm to wind round the steering wheel. It scarcely covered the towing weight inside his chest. Turning the key drifted a shock of tension through his arm as the vehicle curled in reverse. Slick murk on the off roads gyrated the steel cage around him easily, rubber and metal screeching at every curve on the bleak lanes. He never buckled in on nights like these, never content to be more trapped than what felt apparent, and though he swallowed, his saliva had abandoned him since he had set out this night. The sky answered his tremor with a song of uneven rage, aggressive stitches hindering the night. His mind drifted in the waves across the windshield, wipers in tune to their squeak, and vacillating just as the seams that opened through the atmosphere.

If only the boy, his boy, could channel those sins. Not his sins, these sins. Say the vendetta stored in a man’s soul, no, but the source of that which swelled beneath his child’s own breast. If only the boy could find his release in such games as these, in subtle silence. If only the fresh cuts on this father’s knuckles had brought the boy in, instead of kneading him away beneath the blows. A heightened voice in the past channeled at a magnitude no child should bear witness and none should endure, now in equal standing to his own weakness the boy had found. The toll through the bell of time had cost him dearly and scabs had healed over the wounds wrought many times over. There was no space to hear any more of the speech, truth now left no echo but a drowning silence behind black eyes.

He clutched his head as the tempest applauded, roaring through him once more. The boy wasn’t the first, no. It never starts with a boy. Beginnings such as these are a stain grown thick with hate, born malevolence, guilty cost that would not be understood until it came their turn to pay once conceived. That boy had vanished, and replaced by his own now, he had imitated and driven home the accident of his own requited nature.

Blood pounded at his temples and he drew a palm to his mouth then trailing under the rim of plastic over his nose, he rested at the corner of his eye. The beams of light afore him trembled across the gravel and puddles, deep enough to shave away at the view behind the windows. He saw very little ahead as it was, the headlights jounced at every nick and crack in the road only a few feet ahead of the vehicle’s hood. This ever shrinking new world before him.

Nevertheless, the old world had followed him in his mind, his casket delivered in the shape of hollow imagery. Purpose was driven from the marrow of his bones, by people who had once filled the void. The ones who clamored in the day, whispered now, behind closed minds. He had been a purpose drawn like poison but without reason; it had left a man who wanted so much, to learn a sudden once unknown desire; cessation of his own existence. A gift, is death. A son that carries his inheritance, also a gift. One purpose robbed. If not two.

Brakes. There was no disruptive line through wind and rain as he came to a halt at the end of the drive. Familiarity always brought him here. The place where his existence had yet to fully withdraw. The pounding of uneven temperament chased boots that shadowed forward and traced through the headlights of the car, like a camera, capturing the view in a flash. A weight dug through the mud behind the unshakable knees, and he held back a smile of approval as the silhouette passed by at the pop of the trunk. His boy was ready to learn, a furtherance, and justly so. If he would only understand that father always knows best.

If only there was no if in this perishable existence. No only.

  
  


Will sat up as a knock drilled against the front door with obvious impatience. The sound was abrasive on his waking spirit, and with no light peeking through the windows he wondered what amount of sleep he had actually had. He had fallen asleep in his chair, fully attired, and now was feeling the dregs of his choices, a stiff bend at every joint. He trudged to the sound, cracking his spine in a bow, and opened the door, revealing the ever so apparent voice of appreciation.

“Your phone is dead.” Jack drew his chin down as he glanced over the bags beneath Will’s eyes, glasses left inside a book accidentally sometime in the night. Will turned his head, remembering his intent to only rest his eyes a moment, then drifting away. He stepped aside with a wandering motion and knowingly, Jack remained still. Dogs spilled past his knees. They both waited for the pack to heave out into the open land, saturated with the dusky aroma of wet dew and a laying mist, the sound of dusk’s fowl echoing the calls of warning, and still, pups ever drooling in their insatiable excitement. The night aired through the webs in Will’s mind and he paused to aim his view about the heightening moon, clouds rolling over it like arrows sifting heat away from the incoming battlefield standing on his porch.

“Big storm last night.” With that, Will surmised he had been out for more than a few hours, and aimed to gather his thoughts. Perhaps he had managed to sleep through it. He pulled the screen door closed as Jack sauntered in but left the main door open to watch the dogs have their peace. They were in for mud baths and, Will was certain, so was he before the morning would come. “Electricity must still be out.” He added before inclining his head toward his visitor. As an afterthought he tugged at the nearest lamp cord and was rewarded only with the metallic click of abstinence.

“There is another storm waiting.” The revelation was sudden, but not unspoken before occasion. There was no reason to characterise a random whim to beat around the bush with Jack, but Will bent the ear, still aggravated at being woken from a near restful nap. Why else would he visit if not to, as he had once regaled, 'The might of his imagination heed?'

“Not a social visit.” He managed to glance once across Jack’s gaze before feeling shorn by a shepherding gaze and looked for the book he was reading the night former instead. Jack said nothing as the volume was found, tipped over end beneath the chair, glasses sunk almost out of reach astride the cushion. The frame wasn’t bent, the book un-eared, and with this, Will felt a mite less provoked. He aired a whiff of relief from his nose.

“You aren’t the type.” Jack remitted as Will stood up, tucked a bookmark into the bind, and settled the novel against his palms as if deciding if he wanted to part with it or not.

Will resisted a snide, ‘You’d know,’ no provocation this early in conversation would gain either party a victory, so he delivered a decisive shrug instead and he set off for a quick wash in the bathroom. Jack would wait but never more than his equated limit.

“Where is it this time?” The faucet churned over after his question and he splashed the icy water against his skin, after placing the book aside, far out of range from the stream and spatter. The content had not been dull in any sense, but he had to admit very little had retained a space in his mind after the harrowing wake up call. The owner, in a thought to alter a step in his sleeping pattern, had lent it to him with ease. He came out of the bathroom, book in hand; decided he might be better off returning it if he couldn’t keep his eyes on the lines, and wasn’t surprised to see Jack pacing already. He had waited on the reply as well, to gauge or hitherto reengage his current target.

“Chesterfield, Virginia. We need you on this.” The delivery was even but no less of a command. A disguise of need to chase another spiral of madness and circle the drain without dispute to the waves choking his lungs. Will could already feel the water roiling at his knees. Waves beating at his legs and circling to knock him off his feet.

“I do have to be in Maryland tonight.” Will, after refilling the dog bowls with food, heaved on a coat as he spoke and slid his glasses onto his face. There was no getting out of this situation once the plug was pulled.

“You won’t miss the appointment.” Jack’s half smirk echoed off his voice as Will adjusted his collar with back to the guest and all his inferences. No. Just miss a few hours of much needed sleep, robbed from his senses. Will snatched up the book and grabbed his keys.

“I’ll follow you.” He held the air level with an offer of his own. A few more moments of peace before they arrived maybe, but when Jack didn’t follow with his stubborn eye, Will revised with a patient sigh. “I’ll drive myself to Dr. Lecter’s after we’re done.” With that unveiled promise, and an affirming nod from Jack, he managed to earn what he needed without a lean to further conversation. Jack stepped out to his car and Will, in preference, gave a sharp whistle from the porch to the tumbling animals in the yard. They eased inside, not as muddy as expected, but Will promised himself that they would get a proper clean once he came home that night. They, each in turn, were worth the loss of sleep.

  
  


Will drove past a fence line that squared an acreage of hay fields. He could hear the bailers over the hills with his windows down this early. The smell was strong, but pleasant, heralding over the thump of hot gravel against his car and grim reminder of the contortions muddling the route ahead. Another memory he would have to shake from his mind. To the left, a forest stretched through miles and drifted into the horizon’s quiet mist. He held the hay field in his peripheral, the forest would have his attention for the rest of the morning after all. He quipped at the radio for three channels in a row having commercials, no distraction beyond the view today. Not even a weather report to drift against his eardrums. He pattered a sigh over his lips, ever present and discomforted. Anxious to no end.

Wind stirred the trees, a bare earth song to the tumulus affair of the silent morning. Leaves drifted across the road, and amusingly enough, a few wafted over his open window onto his lap and passenger seat. He fished them out after slowing down a bit to avoid swerving like a drunkard, even when there was no one around but his own state of mind. As he sat up, he slammed the brake and looked forward with unexpected awe. With the distraction of the problem, a single solution was a drop of rain for a parched man.

At the end of the route, two deer were grazing peacefully. Only one lifted his head to take in Will and his vehicle in waiting. The metal fence, and the rusted KEEP OUT sign, were an unknown language to the free spirited creatures. Life, so colorful and warm, tucked between a spite of black and white viscera sure to be trailed further on. The last shimmer it gave before the swing of a scythe stirred through Will’s afternoon. The cycle that life and death moves on is just as quick as the other.

“Take your time.” Will caught himself muttering as he watched the elegant beasts natter, then move past the gate and into the ceaseless line of trees. The hum of the engine had made them wary, but they had tarried patiently for the bigger monster to make its peace with them. Just like all monsters, lying in wait.

He unbuckled from the seat and rolled his feet onto the pavement to open the gate. Luckily, the police had been prying through it all morning and the rust gave way easier than expected. He walked it open and trudged back to his car. As he stepped up to the driver’s side, another patrol car pulled up behind him and waved him forward. He hurried to get back in, as he had no interest in an argument to begin with, and being caught near to the scene could be incriminating. Feeling the inevitable, the patrolman whooped a siren and Will remained, clutching his steering wheel and watching the man sidle out, stiffly listening for the gravel steps crunching closer toward his open window.

“Mr. Graham?” The officer tipped the brim of his hat down a bit to hide from the rising sun piercing between the trees. Fresh stubble was gripping at his face and his eyes looked tired. Long night for this one.

“That’s me.” Will answered as evenly as he could. He gave a short sigh with a half-smile to keep a pleasant exterior. The officer nodded back.

“We’ve been told to keep an escort on you through here. Private property and all.”

“Sure. Thank you.” Will understood, to an extent maybe, rumors, or the unofficial title had the owner of the land keeping a more watchful eye on him, perhaps. Or maybe it was Jack’s doing, though he never gave him a chaperone before. The patrolman moved back and Will waited for him to turn off his lights before he crept forward to the scene. By the time he saw the yellow tape, he was gripping more than the steering wheel, wrapped in the view of trees, trees, and trees.

Then, a single clearing. Man made and scuttled of all life except those in forensic attire.

Where did a mind come from that altered such creations of man to such unrecognizable shapes? What throng carries such madness loose in a century where manners and politeness are so vividly portrayed amongst those in civilized society? Compelled from insatiable childhood trauma or stroke of dark choice in mid creation of self? A single neuron misfiring in the womb? There were far too many reasons, theories and logics to carry a light to, even the strongest of fires would only be a candle to any real diagnosis. Every man is the same, so they say, but we all carry different limits to how far we can carry both darkness and light in our souls.

Standing on the edge of the clearing, Will swallowed and closed his eyes. Chasing the pulse of his heart and the blood simmering through his veins, he took one firm step forward. Then another.

  
  
  
  



	2. Danza dell'ombra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I have come to the conclusion that when I write, if the ending doesn’t shock me, I lose all interest.”-Tilregnelighed

Shadows danced behind the land of trees and men as the scene curled with the appetite of an empty stomach. Will Graham, for reasons most inclined toward the reasonable, was decidedly glad that his stomach was just so. He held his grip on reality snug in his mind but had resolutely decided to wait to turn on his empathy. As he felt the blood pulsing in his skin, his palm already damp with sweat, he released the tension and drifted his gaze over the shapes moving around him. No one had gotten closer than he, the ground was littered with evidence that even the short range camera or two could course over without obstruction. Only one man had ventured forward. Brian Zeller, under order by Jack Crawford once they had found a single path that hadn’t been besieged with remains. Jimmy Price and Beverly Katz hovered close on standby.

Time of death.

“How long?” Will spoke to the air, knowing full well an answer would come from somewhere beneath the scattered beams of sunlight. The air rose as if from slumber and drifted outward from between the trees. Leaves rustled in the dreamy state of a waking world, tracing over ground like life had not been so easily snuffed.

“About sixteen hours.” Brian Zeller, crouched over the body, eyed the shape that once had been seen as human. As he went to continue, turning his voice toward Will, the generators burst to life, instantly flooding the grotesquerie with light and drowning him out. He didn’t look amused and squinted at the sudden brightness. Then he stood up without leaving his place in shock. “Why are those coming on? It’s too bright!” A hurried rush of feet and hands netted the lights back off but not before a flurry of disgust had tired anger slipping through the cracks of Zeller’s mood. A sudden voice yelled "WAIT!" before anyone could finish turning the lights completely off again.

“You’ve all stayed out of there except for Zeller, correct?” The tone belonged to none other than Jack. The ones that could speak chorused every version of ‘yes,’ before Jack butted them into silence. “Then what the hell is this?” Littered about without any decisive pattern, was footprints. An incalculable amount of them. With sunlight only a few dozen had been visible, but under the harsh rays of the industrial glow, the difference was astounding to carve in the shadows. With only one body pared clean of entrails, an incalculable amount of viscera was strewn about among them to their final resting place.

It took another half of the day to clear the scene out after the forensic team finished sifting through photographing and collecting the evidence. The forest fought back for the grimier parts, and by the end each person had swatted away at least ten insects between each picture taken and follow up to the next piece of scenery. Far too many parts had been left behind, far from compromising the area, the police had almost unanimously decided to keep their distance after a few hours. By late morning many had ventured far from the area to lose breakfast into bags or untainted areas of the forest.

“Male shoe. Size twelve and a half. One of the policeman said he counted one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-seven footprints out there. Before he snuck away, anyhoo.” Jimmy Price looked askance, Brian and Beverly both looked intrigued. “I think he was just showing off.” He smirked and they both frowned, Brian didn’t pause to roll his eyes. Then he knocked a fly out of mid-flight in protest. Beverly had wasted no time catching a few for evidence, but after that, she had followed suit in batting them away. They were all eager to get back to the lab before noon, not to eat, but even Will suspected that wouldn’t happen. When they finally lumbered into their vehicles, signing off on their duties at present, they all breathed through the stink, mulling over the return to the lab and all its gifts of knowledge they would soon enjoy. Their job was done, but the cleanup crew’s day had just begun.

Will headed to the lunch room and grabbed a readymade sandwich, closing out the world for a few minutes as he headed down the hall to his office. He cleared the route and the sandwich from the wrapper before he was halfway there and tossed the empty paper into the trash. He hadn’t realized how famished he was despite the circumstance. Tossing the files onto his desk he meandered to the other side and settled into his seat to let the images burn into his mind over and over across the space in front of him. Time seemed to blink and he woke with a snap as Beverly knocked on the doorframe.

“Got some info waiting for you,” Beverly half smirked, resistant to blurting specifics as trainees crossed behind her. “Get yourself in gear and walk with me?” Will glanced at his watch, and nodded. He had time before heading to his evening appointment.

“It isn’t the number we need to look at, though it caters to the sense of discord of the bodies.” Will sighed through his nose and crossed his arms. He had continued to be doubtful that footprints had anything to do with the evidence at hand within the frame of disaster.

“ _Remains_ of bodies.” Brian perked up and stared down the line of scattered remnants of what clearly had become a mutilation of people.

“Just the one that got left behind.” Will stared at the single frame beneath the array of photos pinned around the board. Every print had been made by the same boot.

“I’m still curious why there were so many. It looks like a Van Gogh.” Beverly eyed the photos and glanced at Will who was nodding without a second glance back. “The central victim here. Her name is Patricia Bellins. Fingerprints popped up on the AFIS. Petty theft. One public intoxication charge. She’s the only pair of hands and face at the scene. She came from Massachusetts, here for school, been missing from campus since Monday. Girlfriend said she never misses classes. Still, she didn’t report it until yesterday.” As she talked, she made her way to Will’s side, and cocked her head a bit to watch him think. The photo showed the amalgam of body parts billeted out from a single torso. Only a head attached to the trunk.

“The killer wanted us to know her, he left her hands and face intact, but the rest is just for show.” Will chewed the thought of leaving only a single frame behind to see, beyond the additions to the tableau before him. Like heavy brush strokes to base a canvas, then a delicate touch to almost feel the scene trailing over his skin.

“And, as the detective so dutifully informed us, Patricia Bellins was last in contact with Freddie Lounds.” Brian’s voice didn’t raise or lessen with annoyance as Will grimaced at the name. Her name still drew harder looks from Brian after a tryst that had been learned to be more than rumor almost screwed them out of catching a serial killer. Quite in the literal sense of things.

“What would a good college girl want with Freddie Lounds?” Beverly sounded almost equally repelled.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Will muttered but he knew that meeting would have to wait. It was late and if he didn’t start driving now he would be late for his appointment. And, he digressed, Jack would be much more interested in having both their minds cooking over this. He felt his mind drift as he left, got in his car, and drove toward his weekly session. The night would gather close to his mind what the day refused to offer without payment of sanity.

As the door latch closed and Will found himself softly pacing the office, Hannibal spoke with an even tempo, matching to the errors sprouting in his mind.

“Often we rewrite ourselves in an attempt to rationalize the natures of the people around us.” Hannibal moved across the office to pour both he and his friend a second glass of wine. “Which is irrational in itself.” It was mid-afternoon when Will had arrived, and though not expected, he was grateful for the thought. An activity to pass between minds and hands.

“You’re the psychiatrist, Doctor. And there is no rational circumstance that can disregard what he did.” Will Graham sat with his back to Hannibal, perched on the edge of his desk, posture voicing clear agitation.

“In his mind there certainly is.” Hannibal spoke, in the obviousness-to-obvious retort, to incense a fire in the other’s thoughts. As wine slid from the bottle in his hand, a pleasant fragrance traced his senses. Behind him the desk creaked and he heard jarred footsteps and a heavy thump as Will took a seat and sighed. For a moment silence held them together, a whisper of old, present, and new conversation. Daring each other, from the tips of their tongues. Leaving the bottle, Hannibal carried the glass to Will and nodded as a welcome glance met his. As he sat down, he savored the aroma before taking a sip for himself. Will spoke again as he lowered the glass, a heavy air carried in his tone.

“The only real sense I have about this one is that he will do it again. He won’t stop until he’s emptied more. The girl, Patricia, it all danced around her like she was dressed up to be a muse.” Will passed the wine to his left hand and set it on the table. He felt much too fidgety to hold something so delicate. Taking note, Hannibal did the same and focused his attention to Will’s, hands folded at his knees.

“Then, Will.” He waited for the fellow return of gaze. “Perhaps this is a time for patience.” This made Will turn away again, quickly. Uncertainty washed his features and a darkness lifted in his eyes. “As the muse may be just to amuse.”

“Are you suggesting I do nothing?” Will’s chin turned back his direction but his gaze did not meet his for a split second. Contemplation fluttered.

“Yes. For now.” Hannibal nodded, affirming his stance. Will leaned forward and sighed. “Until a connection is made to this killer, moving ahead without caution is more likely to endanger you. Your friends.”

“Jack is going to feel entitled to an answer.” With a hand to his forehead, this had made Will pause. It wasn’t as if he had ignored this possibility. A moment passed away. He turned his eyes fixedly to Hannibal’s. This was the first time he could feel his heart inclining to a pit of chance. Do nothing. Do nothing…

“You’ll give him an answer. The one he is entitled to.” Hannibal’s words hung open like an unfinished book.

“He won’t be happy.” Will whispered beneath Hannibal’s gaze, to the floor.

“Neither will you.” Hannibal studied the terse expression rattling through Will’s face. The agony of truth split his finer instinct in two.

Will knew that was true as well. He wouldn’t be happy until this creature was brought to heel. Even if one must stoop to familiar barbaric lows. He stood and sighed deeply.

“I believe I will be back. Much before the week’s end.” He grimaced a bit and Hannibal tilted his head slightly, with inference to the expression itself. “Jack and I will be meeting Freddie Lounds tomorrow.” Hannibal’s eyes drifted back to the wine glass.

“Perhaps you should finish that beforehand.”

“Interesting advice when you know I will be driving out of here, Doctor.” Will smiled with mirth.

“If Jack truly intends to take in both of our views, without recompense, I can accompany you.” Hannibal caught a second smile from Will at that, though a small shake of his head followed. “Far from it, I still see the shadows beneath your eyes. Sleep still leading you by the nose.”

“Well. You’re right about that.” Will settled back into the chair and fiddled with the glass. A moment passed before he chose to finish it. “’Drunken Psychopath, Riddled by Guilt!’ I can see her headline now.” Will laughed as Hannibal did. It was a morbid feeling to surround himself in death and sit here chuckling beneath the influential vintage.

“Nonetheless, you may settle for predicting more than one outcome in the coming hours.” Hannibal affirmed his weight to the seat across Will, and settled into finishing his glass as well. The night was going to be long for them both, but he found it mattered little with such a curious delight in company.

The morning came with no less pity then a fire during a drought. As Will cruised into a parking place outside the café, he could make out the lines in Jack Crawford’s face like a new scar running through the grandest of canyons. It was no simple task dodging his dark eyes as both he and Hannibal stepped from the car.

“Dr. Lecter. Thank you for coming.” Jack’s look softened as he then threw his gaze back to Will. “Apparently she got here early. I let her sit on her hands a bit to make sure she was alone.” Will glanced inside to see Freddie on her phone in a booth near a corner, but highly visible to the main windows. He expected no less.

“With that in mind, I am sure you beat her to the punch.” Will half-smirked as Jack did.

“A few hours earlier, yes.” Then without another word, he stepped inside, Will and Hannibal close behind. They made orders swiftly to patiently shoo the waitress away, but the discomfort rose within an instant as Freddie’s eyes traced over Will’s face.

“When you invited me for coffee, I didn’t think you’d be alone.” Freddie dished a spoonful of sugar into her cup and stirred with as pleasant an expression as she could muster. Will hadn’t touched his glass yet but inside he knew a spoonful of sugar wouldn’t help this situation go down any easier. Jack raised his drink to hide his glower of contempt. Hannibal didn’t look the least bit offended. “But I didn’t expect the full party.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jack took another swallow from his cup and took the lead as he did not expect Will to open with any questions. “What matters is why you were meeting with Patricia Bellins a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry?” Freddie let a smile perk at the corner of her mouth as she pretended to not know the name. It would take more than one question to unite their information.

“What reason would she have to come see you, Miss Lounds? No games.” Jack set his cup down and stared without blinking. He wasn’t interested in wasting time turning to her stints here. Freddie, enjoying the moment, sipped at her cup one more time before settling on an ambiguous answer.

“I can’t give away anyone or anything that could lead back to my sources.” Without pause she leaned back in her chair and stared through Jack with razor sharp insight. ”Journalist creed, you know.” Her eyes fell on Hannibal, and he returned her stare wistfully. Then she looked at Will who turned away with a face full of boredom.

“The only reason we are talking is because she is dead, Freddie. Her name was kept out of the papers for a multitude of reasons.” Will bit at the space between her and the café’s discount rolodex between them. Hannibal met his gaze easily and Will looked back at her with daggers still in play. “It could very well be that talking to you lined her up with the grim reaper.” She was not disturbed in the slightest, or at least it didn’t show. Not even a wink of light faded from her eye as she spoke.

“I do have a heart, Mr. Graham. It’s just not inclined to serving your needs when you need it.” She finished her cup and moved to stand. “I think we’re done, gentlemen.”

“Miss Lounds, you are very well on your way to letting a criminal walk free.” Jack spoke up before she finished her turn from the table. “Again.” She remained still a moment before turning to face them once more. His look did more than threaten her to stay until she gave something up.

“So you’ve made the connection yourself?” Freddie sat back down and donned an amused expression.” Mind sharing a bit more from your side?”

“This isn’t the first time. It isn’t going to be the last.” Jack stared at her darkly. “You already knew that. Now. If you want to prevent him from killing someone else, you’ll start helping this investigation instead of obstructing it. Again.” He reinforced the word with a hard influx to his tone and Will watched his expression darken. He wasn’t playing games. They held each other’s stares like a high stakes gamble. A thousand words paced the distance of thoughts with just a single twitch in expression. Freddie moved first.

“Patricia Bellins. I knew her about two months. She was working for me on campus in her off hours. It amused her to look for truth under all those discarded lies.” Freddie smiled a bit as she let a memory glance her vision. “We had coffee a few times. Nice gal.” A gentle twitch of her lip. Will sensed that they may have shared more than a few outings of a morning cuppa.

“Was she investigating something for you that could have gotten her killed?” Jack leaned onto his elbows, hands folded, boxing in his coffee cup to take in her reply. Freddie shrugged lightly and looked out the window, scanning her thoughts.

“I told her every story is dangerous, she knew what she was getting into. Well. In a sense she did.” She rounded her thought with charged wit. “Not every educated girl is going to make smart decisions.”

“If she was as clever as you, then she knew perfectly well what she was doing, Freddie.” Will frowned from over his cup. The coffee beans were burned and he set it down with no intention to use it as a blockade again unless he desperately needed to.

“I don’t doubt that.” Freddie’s smile faded as she let her head drop back a bit to study the three men across from her. There was a pause that stunk of dismissal as Jack threw his gaze out the window and Hannibal remained ever still. “However.” She started cautiously. “It may help to know that her girlfriend knows much more about her then I do. Possibly this situation as a whole.” She stood up this time without pause, and Will leaned away, view askance, knowing the conversation was done. He resisted a sigh of relief, but parted his lips to quietly let the air escape.

“We’ll be in contact, Miss Lounds.” Jack kept the warning plain enough. Freddie smiled mischievously and tucked a five under her empty coffee cup.

“Thanks for the coffee. Keep the change.” Then she left the café without a glance back.  

 


	3. Sussurri nel buio

Will and Hannibal found themselves, unabashedly walking the grounds of the college. A security guard, who had introduced himself simply as ‘Howard’ had been leading them toward the female dormitories. It wasn’t how Will had wanted to start the day with, this house to house rigmarole grated heavily on his nerves. Jack had insisted, the police were already stretched thin enough keeping bystanders and media away from the crime scene. Not that they were completely successful. Murmurs swayed down the hallway as they crossed by a lunch room toward the entrance. Howard paused at the door and opened it, letting them pass first.

“She lives on the second floor, room 87. Good girl, but easily influenced by the cliques. Fads. Whatever kids do these days.” Howard didn’t go up the staircase and motioned with a calm wave. “I trust you guys to be down by eleven. I’m not a fan of being caught up here by freshmen.”

“We’ll take it from here.” Will went up the stairs with a quick step and listened to the thump of Hannibal’s feet behind him. He turned right at the dorm signs and chased the room number down in a few minutes, easily maneuvering by giggling groups of late teen and early twenty somethings. By the time he was rapping on the door, the girls had vacated the halls except for a few with now sullen undertones. After a second row of knocks the door popped open to a haphazard face. Will waited a moment before asking. “Katie Nord?”

“Who’s asking?” She muttered. Her voice was hoarse and her face was puffy.

“Special Agent Will Graham. I want to talk to you about your girlfriend, Patricia Bellins.” Will resisted looking too far from the scrunched tears in her eyes at the name. She eyed the badge he flashed.

“Yeah. Guessed something like that.” She opened the door wider and sighed heavily, her clothes were close to revealing and her face darkened. “If you’re here than that means only one thing.” Will braced and prepared a half step back as he recognized the look of intent boiling inside her. “She can fuck Freddie Lounds all she wants. We. Are. OVER!” With a resounding boom the door slammed in Will’s face. Will swallowed and looked back at Hannibal, who returned the gaze of slight dismay. He was not amused that Hannibal looked entertained a moment after. He cleared his throat and listened with his hand above the door. He didn’t hear her footsteps lead away and could still see a faint shadow.

“Katie.” He stated flatly. Then with as soft a whisper he only guessed could be heard through the door, he closed his eyes and added. “She’s not coming back.” A soft click as something fell onto the floor on the other side of the door. Then the barrier dropped, and she appeared again.

“That’s her on the news isn’t it?” She looked away and dug teeth into her bottom lip when Will nodded. She disappeared, then reappeared wearing a large, draping shirt over her clothes. Finally, she let them into her room. It was a fairly clean area, what was atypical to the years of age between the remains of childhood and the advancement into later life. “I was hoping it wasn’t her.” After closing the door, she offered both of them a soda, but neither obliged. Once seated, her on her bed, Will, and Hannibal in mismatched chairs, she opened the can and drank from it. Will noticed papers scattered across nearly every surface, prominently over the bed that Katie had made way to avoid looking at as she crossed her legs. “What do you want to know?”

“It’s usual that the people close to her are suspect,” Will started then dodged to a more direct route. He wasn’t feeling keen on staying here longer than needed. “Where were you when you last spoke to her?” Katie shrugged.

“Here. She said that there was some special scoop to follow up on. Around six, she left and didn’t come back. Curfew is at eleven.” Katie drank more to avoid looking at either of her guests.

“Do you remember if she said anything more specific?” Will hoped he wasn’t grasping at nothing, but he felt the tension close around just that.

“She was going to Freddie’s, then out. Just out.” Katie sighed again and stared at the floor. Agitation shook her a moment. “We were fighting, so of course she wouldn’t tell me where she was going or when she’d be back. I couldn’t do anything to stop her. So stupid.”

“Katie.” Will started to rub his hands together as she dodged a hand over her eyes and sniffed. “We’ll find who did this.” He felt it rise within himself to say so, and hoped it wouldn’t be an empty promise. He vaguely remembered saying something about calling him, leaving a number if she recalled anything else, but focused his attention on rising from the room and leaving to pursue his secondary lead. They passed the guard at the stairs, he gave them a nod as he whistled. Will hesitated beside him in a bubble gum crack accented moment, and he turned to the guard. Whistled paused.

“Are you here every day?” Will watched the man’s posture. It was non-reactive.

“Nope. Hired on about a month ago too. Still settling in.” Howard cocked his head a bit as Will moved away and spoke over his shoulder.

“Don’t go too far. Someone will be by to talk to you soon enough.”

“Alright.” The guard sounded a bit flustered, but agreeable. Will stalked over the grassy knoll and back to the parking lot. At the car, Will let out a sigh of annoyance and rested his hands on the top of the door.

“Does the thought of Freddie Lounds involved with the case divert your attention?” Hannibal queried from a distance over Will’s left shoulder.

“She has nothing to do with this, that’s the distraction.” Will caught himself from turning half mad.

“Perhaps not. Just the same, she could very well be a target.” Hannibal watched Will as he scoffed with malcontent.

“I’ll mention it to Jack. I would rather find out what Patricia was after.” Will faced Hannibal and rubbed his neck. “Papers on the other bed and dresser showed she was really interested in local art shows, and curators in the area. I can find something better there.” Will unlocked the doors and added. “Maybe I’ll take you. Find an art piece for your office.” Hannibal’s face glowed with mirth. A playful jab for his reaction earlier, no doubt.

Over the next few days, Will gamboled around to the art galleries that were open to discussion with him. The curators who were at first interested in making a sale, went flat after he revealed he was part of the FBI, there to talk with them. After the third day of closed door arrogances, he groaned loudly. A stack of curator cards, brochures, and dark circles around his eyes were all he had to count for it. He drove home, eager to see his dogs and attempt to get some sleep.

The moon was clouded over when he arrived, and he fell to the floor to greet his pack when the door opened. They frolicked into the yard and he watched them flail about in the snow, do their business and fly back inside to the heat. After freshening their food and water, he settled into a chair with a glass of whiskey and caught himself staring at his phone. He was going at this the wrong way. Before his fingers cared to follow, he began to dial Hannibal’s home phone. It was a better idea than what he had attempted thus far. After three days of no sleep, he was steamed out of ideas and emotionally vacant. The phone rang in his hand before he finished dialing, and he jumped. Two of his dogs perked, but paid no heed besides that, snuffling innocently at his feet. He answered the call.

“Jack?”

“Will. I need you here. We just found twelve more bodies.” The tone was just as tired as his, if not more so.

“I’m on the way.” Will spoke but didn’t hear the words leave his mouth. Then he got up and he left. The chill hit his face like a razor’s edge.

Jack had yet to arrive as Will pulled up some distance from the blaring red and blue lights. The scene was horrific. A shot of fear hit him with a hard blow to the chest as he got closer. A screaming reminder of the refrain that had echoed off the forest only three days before. Twelve, in what Will could now say was a neat arrangement, only as they were in perfect similarity to the first murder. Down to everything except one detail, anyways.

“Jesus.” Jimmy sighed.

“Well, he did have twelve disciples.” Brian perked up. Beverly groaned. No one was awake enough for in-jokes.

“Not all of them were martyred, and especially not like this. John actually died a peaceful death.” She watched Jimmy walk away to catch his breath. Even with a mask the smell was overpowering. “At least seven of these are beyond putrefied. We’ll have to pull dental records.”

“I don’t see any hands around here, guess he wasn’t feeling so helpful this time.” Brian sighed, and nearly ignored, he furthered his idea, “They still look like Van Gogh to you, Bev?”

“Nah, can’t compliment this at all. Be back in a few.” She finished snapping a photo and moved away after Jimmy. Brian stayed only a few extra seconds.

Will could feel the blood draining to every extremity as he traced the ground with his eyes. The entire canvas was here and he couldn’t brace to the shock and awe invading his mind. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes, counted his pulse, could feel the mask peel from his face and taste the rot in the air. The familiar hum chased a glow over his mind’s eye and he spun the tale as the spider turns silk. Chasing the sensation of the ground rushing up to meet his face before the world went silent. As his breath puffed against the dirt, he felt it. Chased forward. The connections thumped with the pulse of his footsteps as he stood, sending a warm vibration through the cool muck beneath his feet. The ground was his core, and the reaction around him left a physical force bracing him under the tremors chasing through his body. It was euphoric, and yet he felt degraded shadowed by the trees wrapping around the clouded moon above him. The light grew brighter as the clouds passed, then he turned his eyes upward and felt life flow through his veins deeper and stronger than before. The scene was ignited by the tree’s branches, winding, swaying, and distorting in the shadows. Like a liquid flowing across the inner working of his mind, this, was his design.

As he opened his eyes, he saw the team looking at him quizzically. He chuckled softly, and turned away. Then he left without a word.

He watched the shadow drift in front of the door and the sound of a lock being flung. Then, Will stared upon the form of Hannibal, dressed down in his pajamas and house coat. He looked momentarily concerned, stepping aside without words. Will wandered in and found himself just a blink later turning circles in his psychiatrist’s living room. Almost threatening to burn circles into the carpet, he felt loose and deranged. He paused as the blood rushed from his head. Hannibal had said something, but with no reply, remained silent until Will remained still.

Will listened to the brush of fabric, a hand against his shoulder, and ignored the drift that threatened to collapse around his mind. It reassured him but the tally still remained. Thirteen bodies, three days, technically, four, and only two leads that had fallen into near dust before the end of the body count.

“Hannibal.” He muttered at his shoulder, and the hand traced away.

“Will?” He replied as he moved slightly into Will’s peripheral. There was no purpose in invading the space between them, not unless there was a chord to be struck.

“With all this evidence. I’m still shackled to this graceless procedure.” Will turned with a heavy swallow and stared into him, Hannibal stared back with ease. When he was displeased, Will’s gaze was harsh enough to scare one who was meek at heart.

“There are sharp turns and bends on this road to your answer, Will. I have never seen you give up before the race is won.”

“But that’s it exactly. I’m not on the road anymore. It’s a dead end. They all are. There is nowhere to turn from here.” Will sat down at the harpsichord with a heavy sigh and removed his glasses. He settled his hands onto his face and didn’t move for several minutes. He felt the space fill up, the air hot with the form of another presence. Hannibal settled beside him. He felt their thighs touch, but Hannibal politely moved away once he had steadied.

“This is not the first time you’ve had to turn around. Backing up and peering through the looking glass one more time to gain a new perspective.” He watched Will, unmoving, thoughts buzzing and popping like firecrackers. He knew the other had heard, settling on a word or two that had come from him to find a grate to cling to against the powerful rush of thoughts. “Will.” He added softly and before he could move a distance, Will sat up to meet his gaze. Their noses brushed, for just a fleeting moment, and Will remained solid in the space. Watching each other.

“Oh.” Will looked away quickly and aimed his eyes at a nearby cabinet. “Sorry.” He made no move to escape the seat, not discomforted by the touch or currently still unaware of the present. With another sigh, he closed his hands over his knees, glasses still in hand, and focused on his breathing. His head was too full of noise.

“What drove you away?” Hannibal spoke through the sound and Will captured the hum with a blink.

“What do you mean?” He turned on the seat, to lean against the keyboard with just his back.

“You came here. Not home. Not to your desk to pour over pictures. Notes.” Hannibal turned on his elbow and let a smile waft into his eyes. Will grabbed it into his own. “Or were you being chased by shadows?” Hannibal watched the light fade from Will’s eyes as he turned his gaze away again.

“I can’t run from this.” Will stood up and circled the space between the wall, an antique cabinet, and Hannibal.

“Just as much as you can’t run from yourself.” Hannibal watched Will pace, both of their eyes flickering in thought. “Or your gifts.”

“Hannibal.” Will was away from him now, watching out the window without real interest. Then he turned to face him and fished a thought from between his teeth and tongue. “There are thirteen reasons why I came here tonight.” A weary half-smile curved at his mouth.

“I’d wager more than that.” Hannibal followed the smile with a tilt of his head and a patient scold. Will chuckled and followed the trail back to the seat beside Hannibal. A sigh escaped him as he re-sat. The closeness didn’t bother him. He felt elevated and elated.

“I haven’t given up. I can’t.” Will rubbed his hands together, focusing on the sensation to avoid acknowledging the strain in his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose to clear his head with a distraction. “I might be haunted by these glimpses, all these victims, but I’m not chasing ghosts. They are _real._ ” Will looked at Hannibal with darkened resolve. Hannibal nodded, traversing the entirety of the face before his own. For a tick, both of them just breathed the mood.

“They are only men.” He spoke evenly.

“Men can be caught.” Will agreed. Another fire sparking to life in his gaze. They held the view. It was most certainly a shared thought.

“Will.” Hannibal’s mouth curled slightly. “Why don’t you stay for the evening? A late supper, perhaps?”

“I’d love to.” Will smirked back but drew his eyes to the floor. He slipped the glasses back up his nose and exhaled shakily.

“‘But?’” Hannibal cocked his head patiently.

“I need to finish this. Any evidence at all, it may well help.” Will felt a tremor up his back as Hannibal watched him an instant without blinking. The man was digging, hardened to push onward, but paused at the threshold with a satisfied look. The situation came upon Will like a warm undertow, chasing him all the way up from the riverbed of memory, to settle in the shallows of the present.

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice was careful as he watched Will find himself within the momentum. “When I write music, there are times I cannot bring a satisfying conclusion to the sound in my thoughts.” Will listened to Hannibal’s breathing again before a reply lifted from his mind.

“How do you finish it?”

“I trace my memories. Feel their bustling across the borders of the song until the right note settles into place.” Hannibal gently ran his fingers over the keys in front of him and Will noticed the half written music sheet sitting before them. “Each note reminds me of the purpose to the song.”

“What is playing in your heart right now, Hannibal?” Will felt the familiarity between them turn as lightly as the wind. A smile was all that was offered in return.

“What moves the setting that is known as Will Graham?”

“Oh? The Ballad of Will Graham? Not something anyone would want to listen to, Doctor.” Will smirked, and Hannibal let out a soft chuckle.

“You would be surprised.” Hannibal watched Will carefully then looked away without a trip to his gaze. His fingers traced the keys again, then he played a melody that drifted an ache into Will’s heart. Will knew that Hannibal was wandering across the notes to tease a reaction, tension, and a decisive ease. The sound trickled away and Hannibal turned his eyes back to Will. “The Ballad of Will Graham. It is only suiting that you write the final stanza.” An earnest awareness ran up Will’s back as he laughed softly.

“Well.” He sighed and settled down completely next to Hannibal, feeling a burst of excitement tremble from the man beside him. He played up his arms as if to spark a resounding chorus. Hannibal braced in anticipation. Then, to an almost look of dismay from Hannibal, Will settled on a single key, dropping a foot atop the pedal below. It rang like a warm gem across the expanse of the room, and Will felt the music touch the synapses of his humanity. They listened to the tone until the room was bare of the sound. Then softly, Hannibal spoke once more.

“After what we have discussed, I can’t force you to stay, but I refuse to let you leave on an empty stomach. Let me pack you something, at the least.” He moved quietly from the seat, away, toward the kitchen. Over the harpsichord Will heard him add in a jovial tone. “I hope you won’t say no to that?”

“Yes. Yes, and thank you.” Will followed him to the kitchen and watched Hannibal move about. He was quick but still elegant as he filled a container.

“My words are only as helpful as you let them be.”

“What is it?” Will eyed the dish being served. Or, yet to be served.

“A chicken Pâté. I had it for dinner tonight with some leftover. Perhaps this was the reason for that.” Hannibal handed him the tupperware and Will nodded in gratitude. “Take care not to overheat it.”

“I’ll be careful.” Will felt the corners of his mouth lift. “Thanks.”

“And Will. If you are going to the office.” Hannibal added with a gentle scold to his tone. “Cover it in wax paper when you cook it.”

“So it won’t explode?” Will felt a bit bad for joking but brushed it away. His senses were alive to the ideas riding beside him, within his grasp now, and not a ruse of his mind.

“Yes.” Hannibal followed him to the door and offered a gentle good night as Will sped walked through the cold to his vehicle. He was in, heater blasting and rerouted almost as quickly as he had arrived.

Will turned down the road and sped toward the field office. If he followed the trail as Hannibal had suggested, he would very well find the notes being played by this...man he pursued. The darkness had lifted from his thoughts and he could very well see a glimmer of hope to latch to. As he let out a sigh of relief, tension dropped from his shoulders. Then a blank space hit his mind. Will sat in his car at a red light and found himself suddenly remise as he stared at the container on the passenger seat beside him. It dawned like a rock falling out of the sky.

Hannibal had been hitting on him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is profoundly inspiring, and I hope you sustain an interest in my character renditions.


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